


Everything is Meant to be Broken

by SomewhatByronically



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhatByronically/pseuds/SomewhatByronically
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>While Brand would make a fine ruler, He had yet to learn to set aside his grief well enough to negotiate with not-Bard, so he assigned it to another elf.  Now, the only time he visits Laketown is to amble over the docks and boats as he did with Bard.</p>
</blockquote><br/>Everyone dies and Thranduil cries a lot.
            </blockquote>





	Everything is Meant to be Broken

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on [this](http://elfandbowman.tumblr.com/post/108362732850/thranduil-at-bards-funeral-and-then-at-sigrids) prompt. Enjoy. :)

There was no mercy in it. It wasn’t fair. Hardly fifty years since Bard’s funeral and here beautiful Tilda is being lain in the ground. From the treeline, Thranduil lowered his eyes and blinked tears away, thinking of the passed years.

Thranduil wouldn’t have missed Bard’s funeral if all of Mirkwood was burning. There was not choice in the matter.

When Bain’s time came, attendance at the funeral was as much personal as it was diplomatic, the steady alliance of Mirkwood and Dale seemed that it would last at least as long as Thranduil lived simply because of the Dragonslayer. Thranduil soon realized that he could not longer serve as the diplomatic presence in Dale. While Brand would make a fine ruler, He had yet to learn to set aside his grief well enough to negotiate with not-Bard, so he assigned it to another elf. Now, the only time he visits Laketown is to amble over the docks and boats as he did with Bard.

When news of Sigrid’s death came to Mirkwood, Thranduil had the painting that was commissioned on her wedding day displayed in his bedroom. He spent near a week curled into himself on his grand and empty bed trying to will his grief to pass. He very nearly missed the funeral if it weren’t for Legolas entering into his father’s chamber with the largest bouquet of the most beautiful flowers that Mirkwood had to offer. They showed up just in time to present the flowers to her family.

And one day, Thranduil just knew. He ran through the halls of his palace plucking particular flowers from different arrangements and without a word to his guard, he hopped astride the new elk that had been acquired since the fateful battle so few years ago.

When Thranduil presented himself at the door of Bard’s old house, he only recognized it because of his few trips into Laketown. When the house had passed onto Tilda’s family, they renovated a few floors so that they could fit their growing family. Presently, Ingrid (Tilda’s oldest) was in charge of the household. It had been a long time since Thranduil had visited and she was happy to see him. He hugged Ingrid and did his best to return her enthusiasm for his visit. He always could be wrong and he didn’t want her to worry unnecessarily for Tilda.

Thranduil had taken to Bard’s grandchildren as his own, but with Bard’s death, he began distancing himself from Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda’s grandchildren mostly to spare himself and he only hoped that they would forgive him.

"I’ve come to speak with Tilda." Ingrid nodded happily and showed Thranduil to the room her mother was resting in.

As Thranduil ascended the stairs he tried his best to compose himself. Upon entering Tilda’s room and seeing her frail form on the bed, he couldn’t help but begin to tear up. A weak smile from Tilda pushed him over into silent tears.

"Ada."

Thranduil remained silent. He was worried that if he spoke at all, he’d simply bring death’s attention to the room. Cradling the flowers in his arm, in all his royal regalia, he knelt next to her bed and took her hand. 

"I know Ada. It’s okay. I’ve lived a full life. I’m not afraid."

Thranduil looked to her face with tear-stained cheeks and she added sadly:

"But, I’m sorry I’m leaving you."

Tilda said this last part with a hint of actual grief and Thranduil couldn’t help but run his hand over her forehead and kiss her cheek as he did when she was young.

Freeing his hands, He took the flowers in hand and began weaving them in the intricate beautiful elven patterns that he knew that Tilda loved. When the crown was finished, placed it atop her grey hairs and let his tears fall freely as he took her hand again. 

"Tilda, love."

"Yes Ada."

Thranduil didn’t know how to continue and he simply let the silence hang. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable because nothing hung in the silence except the many fine years that Thranduil had shared with their family. At this point Thraduil let his elven vanity go and the grief overtook him, crumpling him by her bedside and ripping a few loud sobs from this throat. As he felt the tension from her hands drain, he knew it wasn’t going to be much longer and he called for Ingrid. He looked once more at her face and saw a ghost of a smile as her eyes closed.

Ingrid came thundering up the stairs as Thraduil let his tears continue to flow silently.

"MUM!"

With Ingrid’s exclamation, Thranduil picked himself up the best he could and left Tilda’s side without looking back. Ingrid collapsed in a heap over her mother, the other adults in the house had taken notice of the commotion and ran up the stairs that had just Thranduil descended.

A day or so later, when Thranduil was long gone, Ingrid’s youngest watched the most beautiful flowers bloom on the crown upon her grandmother’s head. And though she knew more of the elven magic that would keep the flowers alive for months than the elf-king who cast it, it was still a comfort.

And from here in the treeline Thranduil forced himself to look up again and saw his diplomatic envoy and a brave-faced Legolas paying their respects to the family.

Finally, a small smile interrupted his tears as he saw that they had left the crown in full bloom upon Tilda’s head.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was sufficiently sad, my muse is somewhat sadistic. Prompt me at [my tumblr](http://poeticalsciencing.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
